


make your mother sad

by logicalspecs



Series: requests :) [4]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and i dont give it to him, geo deserves the world, paul and john are good older brothers :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicalspecs/pseuds/logicalspecs
Summary: "...how about George got beat up or something and he has to call somebody to come pick him up from where he is and whoever it is takes him home and helps him treat cuts and stuff . :)" - Laura"Something is wrong.He frowns at the thought, and rolls back, thinking over the day.It was a fine day, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet his mind seems so anxious to not let him rest, practically condemning him to a miserable tomorrow-- or today, rather. The clock ticks far past midnight already.It's then, as he watches the minute hand slowly make its way around, that he realizes what is off.George never came home."





	make your mother sad

**Author's Note:**

> i am unbelievably sorry this took so long, writers block has been holding me captive for months now
> 
> this has been almost finished for so long oops,,, just needed to add the finishing touches :)
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> [title from the beatles' 'cry baby cry']

_This concrete is cold._

There are probably more important things to worry about at this point in time, like the two men who are currently using him as their own personal punching bag, but his mind seems very adamant on focusing on just how chilly the pavement, in which he is probably going to leave a George Harrison sized dent, actually is. It is, in fact, colder than most streets he’s been beat into.

It’s not often he finds himself in such an utter misunderstanding. Now, he wasn’t exactly trying to flirt with ’s bird, he was just trying to find where Ringo had gone off to, the tiny bastard, and _Rip-off-Bugs-Bunny_’s girl had just happened to have seen someone matching his mate’s description, and offered to show him through the crowds of the bar.

George wonders briefly if the girl saw him almost like some kid who’d lost their parents, and he frowns minutely at the thought, before a first to the face, delivered straight from the hands of Bugs’ friend, _Mr. Laddie-Please-Brush-Your-Teeth_, brings him crashing back to reality, the fresh burst of pain sending his head reeling.

He scrambles out of the way of another kick, Bugs’ signature buck teeth snarling at him. His ribs scream in protest, and he winces. _That’s not good_, he thinks dully, _my ribs aren’t usually ones to scream._ It’s then that realizes, in a detached haze, that it’s he who’s in fact screaming, the sound tearing raw from his throat as one of the men crushes his ankle under their heavy black boots.

A sickening _pop_ echoes through the air, and he almost throws up at the sound of it. Ankles are definitely not supposed to make that noise, and the two men finally seem to realize that this has gone just a _titch_ too far.

“Le’s go,” One of the guys, _Mr. Eww _(_Mr. Laddie-Please-Brush-Your-Teeth_ was too long for George’s foggy mind) says in a rushed tone, and the pair book it down the alley.

“Shit,” George forces out, through gritted teeth, pushing himself to his elbows. “Shit, shit, shit shit.”

His ankle is absolutely useless, and, at this point, the rest of his body is too. A deep exhaustion has settled into his bones, both the broken ones and the ones in perfect condition. His mind is so far detached from his situation he almost isn’t certain he isn’t already dead, just ghost watching himself from a distance.

Except, the utter _crushing_ pain in his ankle is, unfortunately, very, very, real, and he is very _real-ly_ close to passing out, which is also not ideal. 

He blinks away the darkness closing in on his vision, swallowing thickly as he pushes himself up, balancing on his one good ankle. Using the wall as a support, he slowly drags himself out of the alley, nausea pooling in his stomach as his eyes quickly catch a glance of his foot, and he's not sure if it's his mind playing tricks on him, or if his ankle has always pointed that far inwards.

He quickly tears his gaze away, and stumbles into the open streets, a flickering street lamp drawing is attention. It’s unsteady glow creates a halo over a red booth, and George almost drops in relief.

“Oh, thank God.” The words scrape past his dry lips, and he hobbles towards the heavenly phone booth, practically collapsing through the doors.

His hands shake as he dials the number, the adrenaline slowly wearing off. He picks up the receiver and leans against the door, the glass cool against his burning skin.

_“Hullo?”_ A familiar voice comes through, and George almost cries in relief. 

“Paul, I need yer help,” he says simply, letting his heavy eyelids slowly drift closed.

_A little rest never hurt anybody_, the voice in his mind says soothingly, and George finds himself agreeing wholeheartedly as he collapses in the red telephone booth, the receiver dangling loosely from its coiled wire. Paul’s frantic calls sing him to sleep.

~//~

_Something is wrong._

John snores softly, though the sound echoes in the silent room. Paul stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles as he waits for sleep to claim him too. It doesn't.

With a soft huff, he rolls over, narrowing his eyes at John, hoping his glare will somehow wake his unconscious mate, but, if anything, John just snores louder,

_Something is wrong._

He frowns at the thought, and rolls back, thinking over the day.

It was a fine day, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet his mind seems so anxious to not let him rest, practically condemning him to a miserable tomorrow-- or today, rather. The clock ticks far past midnight already.

It's then, as he watches the minute hand slowly make its way around, that he realizes what is off.

_George never came home._

A shrill ringing suddenly cuts through the air, and Paul’s shoots up, his stomach sinking and his eyes blown wide.

John also wakes with a start, blinking mussed auburn hair from his eyes.

“What the hell?” He grumbles as Paul darts towards the phone. “Who in hell’s name--”

“Hullo?” Paul greets, pressing the phone to his ear and waving for John to be quiet.

George’s voice comes through, his words slurred and Paul has to strain to just barely hear him, though when he does, his blood runs cold.

_“Paul, I need yer help--”_

“Where are you?” He asks, his voice edging on frantic. “George, where are you?”

A soft thump is all that answers him, and his breath stutters.

“George?” He calls, and hears nothing but dead silence. “George!”

The receiver falls from numb fingers, and Paul just barely sees John’s head shoot up out of the corner of his eye as the phone clatters to the ground.

“I need to go,” He stammers, blinking at the wall. John approaches him, his footsteps light on the wooden flooring. He places a gentle hand on Paul’s shoulder, his face a mask of confusion. “Geo’s in trouble.” Is all Paul says in way of explanation, before flying out the door, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste. 

He barely registers the cool nighttime air as it bites at his cheeks and bare arms, his footsteps pounding across the pavement as he runs towards the pub that Ringo had said they were going to check out earlier that day.

“Paul!” A voice calls behind him, and at the sound of his name, Paul spares a second to glance over his shoulder, only to see John running after him, their coats in his arms. He slows, just barely, but enough for John to catch up and hand him the jacket.

“Don't want ya to catch yer death, Macca,” John says as they both keep moving towards the bar, their boots echoing on the concrete, the sound cutting through the chilled air of the night.

A flash of red catches Paul’s eye, and he quickly makes a break for the telephone booth, his heart pounding in his chest. He pulls the door open with trembling hands, and stumbles back, into John, who steadies him as they both look in the booth in horror.

George lays in a crumpled heap, his messy hair covering his eyes. He’s completely still.

_He looks dead_, is Paul’s first thought, and he has to swallow back a wave of nausea.

John pushes past him, calling George’s name and falling to his knees in front of their unconscious band mate. Paul finds his feet to be glued to the concrete, and he remains frozen as John pulls George into his arms, his voice growing firmer as he tries, almost desperately, to rouse their young friend.

“Shit- Paul, help me get him up,” John’s furrowed gaze turns to look up at him, and the bright glint of fear in his eyes snaps Paul’s mind to attention.

He wraps his arms around George’s lean shoulders, while John hooks his knees.

“Do we take him to a hospital?” Paul asks, and his voice is just barely a whisper. John looks up to him, his face pale in the moonlight, and Paul can see the uncertainty and pure fear in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, we should, shouldn’t we?” John’s voice sounds shaky and uncertain, and that sends Paul’s stomach for another loop.

“-o, no hospital,” A weak voice speaks up from between them, and both Paul and John’s gazes shoot down.

“Geo?” Paul almost drops the boy in his relief, barely catching himself at the last second.

“No hospital,” George says again, his voice firmer this time. “‘m fine.”

John almost snorts. “Yeah, ya sure look fine, mate.”

George kicks lightly at John, who just rolls his eyes as he gently sets down the younger boy’s legs.

“I think-” George swallows heavily, and Paul winces as fresh blood drips down his brow bone. “I think I just need a bit of rest. I’m knackered, fellas.”

Paul looks up at John, who merely shrugs very _unhelpfully._

“Alright, we’ll head home and clean you up, but yer going to the doctor in the morning, alright?” Paul says, and George nods as best as he could from his position in Paul’s arms.

“Gear.”

~//~

They make it back to their place without much trouble, George staying conscious for the most part. Paul can hear Ringo snoring in the next room over, unaware of the entire situation. _He’ll probably have a fit of guilt when he finds out,_ Paul realizes with a small frown. _Definitely not looking forward to that conversation._

George is almost like puddy in their hands as Paul and John place him down in his bed, a soft groan scraping past his lips. Paul rushes off to grab their modest first aid kit from the bathroom as John pours a glass of water from the tap.

George still says nothing as they begin cleaning him up, John working on the cuts on his face while Paul wraps his ribs. Nothing could have prepared Paul for the sight that greeted him as he unbuttoned George’s ruined shirt. His chest and sides were washed with an array of colours; stark purple and sickly yellow marking him like a painting. 

His stomach lurches, and he quickly tears his gaze way in favor of watching John work, giving himself a moment to settle his racing heart.

_I’ve never seen John so gentle,_ Paul muses as the older boy dabs at a cut on George’s brow with a cloth, his eyes focused and his touch light. 

The only sound in the room is that of water dripping as John wrings out his bloody cloth in the cup, and Paul’s breathing kicks up. 

“So,” Paul says, uncertain, desperate to break the almost deafening silence, “What happened, Geo?” He asks, rolling a bundle of gauze in his hands.

“Took a thumpin’ from Bugs Bunny ‘imself.” Is all George says, a loopy grin on his face, before his head lolls to the side, sound asleep.

John huffs an exasperated chuckle, almond eyes twinkling with worried fondness as he brushes a loose strand of hair from George’s face, and Paul can’t help but grin at him.

“What’s that look for, McCartney?” John asks, raising a brow, and Paul just softly shakes his head, still smiling.

_We’ll be okay,_ he thinks, before turning his attention back to the boy he’s come to see like a brother. 

_You’ll be okay,_ he swears, his hand resting lightly over George’s bruised heart. _I’ll make sure of it._

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a sucker for brotherly geo and paul :)
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed!! 
> 
> feel free to come talk to me or send requests over on my tumblr, @ eveningmccartney !


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